


Sit With Me Here On the Edge of Loneliness

by TheVagabondBoy



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Depressed Steve Rogers, Homelessness, Hurt Steve Rogers, Internet, M/M, Mental Anguish, Mental Health Issues, Minor Character Death, Minor Original Character(s), Minor Violence, Not Canon Compliant, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Steve Rogers, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Rating May Change, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Has Issues, Steve Rogers Has PTSD, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Steve discovers the internet, Steve is amazed by technology, Strike Team Delta, Tags May Change, Warnings May Change, dont worry, its just an OC
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-09-05 17:53:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16815565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheVagabondBoy/pseuds/TheVagabondBoy
Summary: Steve wakes up and the world seems to have changed. He can't believe it. Hewon'tbelieve it.He won't believe anything they tell him.He will figure it out on his own.He doesn't stop running.





	1. Chapter 1

Something was wrong.

He could tell right away, right from the moment he woke up.

Because that was what was wrong. Waking up. He wasn’t supposed to do that.

The memory was clear as day; the jet, fighting Schmidt, piloting the jet, realizing what had to be done.

Crashing the jet into the water.

His body crying out at him in pain at the immense force of the hitting surface, things going dark as he sank. Water rushing in,  _ cold, it was so cold, he could still feel it all over his body, _ and surrounding him. He tried to swim out, get through one of the holes ripped open in the hull, but the cold was too much. Even his new, powerful body couldn’t take it forever.

He remembered starting to go numb, and sinking.

Things went black.

Then he was  _ here, _ waking up again.

The place he was in didn’t feel right either.

The game on the radio... That couldn’t possibly be right.

_ “Swung on. A line to the right. And it gets past Rizzo.” _

He  _ remembered _ that game.

_ “Three runs will score. Reiser heads to third. Durocher’s going to wave him in.” _

He couldn’t wrap his head around this.

_ “Here comes the relay, but they won’t get him.” _

The woman who came in. There was something off about her. 

“Good morning.” she said as she closed the door. “Or should I say afternoon?”

She didn’t...

“Where am I?” he asked her.

“You’re in a recovery room in New York City.”

He couldn’t put his finger on it but there was something wrong with her too. She didn’t seem  _ real. _ It felt like she had stepped right out of one of the cartoons he used to watch back home.

_ “The Dodgers take the lead, eight to four. Oh, Dodgers! Everyone is on their feet. What a game we have here today, folks. What a game, indeed.” _

“Where am I really?”

She was lying to him.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.” she said.

Her confusion seemed so put-upon.  _ Fake. _

“The game.” he told her. “It’s from May 1941. I know, ‘cause I was there.”

She didn’t like that at all. He caught her in her lie. She was trying to figure out what to say, what to tell him.

He rose slowly.

“Now, I’m going to ask you again.”

He didn’t want a fight. If he could get a straight answer from this woman, he would happily take it. He would remain reasonable until he was  _ pushed _ to act.

“Where am I?”

“Captain Rogers-“

_ “Who are you?!” _

The door opened, men dressed in black uniforms walked in. Steve stepped back, his body readying to fight.

It was over quickly.

He threw them against the wall and  _ they went through it. _ He jumped out through the hole, eager to see what lay beyond.

What the hell was this? Like a big storage area with the room built up in the middle, painted backdrops the windows would look out at.

Steve’s head was spinning.

What was this? Where was he? Who were these people?

He had to get out of there.

He burst through the door. What the hell? He exited to a wide hallway, men and women dressed in suits all around, more guards in black uniforms.

He kept running. The building was like a maze; it felt like the hallways were twisting and turning around him, wrapping him up in their inescapable pattern.

He came out onto a street.

There were so many people. They were dressed in such odd ways. The cars looked different too, _ if those things were cars at all _ , even the buildings had changed!

_ What was happening? Where was he? How’d he get here? Was he even awake? Was this a dream? _

He ran.

He ran and he ran and he ran.

The people stared at him, lights were flashing everywhere, everything was so loud, there was too much noise.

He looked around.

The buildings were covered in screens. The lights were blinding, colours flashing, people moving so quickly.

_ What was this place? _

Huge, black monster cars screeched to a halt around him, surrounding him. People flooded out of the monster cars.

“At ease, soldier!”

Steve turned quickly. His eyes landed on a dark-skinned, one-eyed man standing some paces away. The man approached, as the others seemed to be putting up a perimeter.

“Look, I’m sorry about that little show back there,” the man said. ”-But we thought it best to break it to ya slowly.”

He had the same air as the woman in the fake recovery room. He sounded fake. His every word sounded like fiction.

“Break  _ what?” _ Steve asked.

“You’ve been asleep, Cap. For almost seventy years.”

Steve’s stomach fell through the floor.

This couldn’t be real. This  _ couldn’t _ be real. It wasn’t possible.

It was Hydra, wasn’t it? They dragged him out of the water, put him here, in this  _ weird fucking place, _ and they were trying to manipulate him.

He had to get out of there.

He shoved the one-eyed man. He put enough force behind it to send the man flying back, but hopefully not enough to kill him. Steve didn’t want to kill anyone until he figured out what the hell was going on. He rather not kill anyone  _ at all. _

The guard moved on him. Steve was faster than all of them.

He ran at one of the monster cars. He leapt onto its hood, onto its roof, back down on the ground on the other side, outside the perimeter.

He started running again.


	2. Chapter 2

They followed him for a long time.

Steve didn’t bother thinking about where he was going, as long as it was in the opposite direction of his tail. He could figure out where he had ended up when he ended up there. What came first was getting away from those people,  _ whoever they were. _

He went down the stairs to a subway, following the crowd. Maybe they would lose him if he stuck to the crowd. He was certain to slouch his back and hunch his shoulders and lower his head. It was best to blend in. He’d follow the crowd.

A train,  _ which really fucking didn’t look like any trains he’d ever fucking seen before, _ pulled into the station.

Steve was all but  _ dragged _ onto it by the mass of people clambering to get on. He grabbed onto the closest pole once he was inside, clinging to it to keep from being washed away. The doors closed. A voice muddled by static spoke and the train jerked into motion.

He ran his free hand through his hair and over his face.

What the fuck was happening? He had thought maybe this was just another scene being played out by Hydra, or whoever it was tht had captured him, in one more attempt to fool him but this... The city looked a whole hell of a lot different but Steve  _ knew _ New York. He knew New York like the back of his hand.

_ This was New York. _

It was just...different.

The man with the eye-patch, he said Steve had been asleep for seventy years.

Was that true?

_ Could it be true? _

Change like this... It didn’t happen overnight, Steve knew that. But give it seventy years, then maybe. Seventy years was a long time. Who knew how much could happen in  _ seventy years? _

Could he really have slept for seventy fucking years?

The train slowed to a stop. Fuck, Steve wasn’t sure how far he’d ridden, how many timed they had already stopped. It didn’t fucking matter. He and a few others stepped off the train to the platform.

He looked around. It was another underground station. He could see any signs to tell him where he was.

He felt lost. Confused. Scared.

God, he was fucking terrified.

It felt like he’d only closed his eyes for a moment and yet here was, in a strange, new world. If he hadn’t been lied to, close to a century had passed.

Steve rubbed the tears out of his eyes with his hands. He cleared his throat to rid it of the knot that had formed there.

He didn’t have time to  _ feel _ yet. He was...in enemy territory, as far as he knew. He had to find somewhere to hide, to lay low, and new clothes. Figure out what this world looked like. Where he could go, where he could turn.

All the people he knew before his sleep, all the people he loved...

Were any of them still alive?

Would he  _ have _ anywhere to go? Would there be anyone to turn to? Anyone to ask for help?

Was he all alone?


	3. Chapter 3

Turned out he was in Harlem, so he started walking south. South was as good as any direction.

He just walked.

He didn’t know where he was going. How was he  _ supposed _ to know?

He stopped when he saw a stand selling newspapers. He didn’t have any money. Just a quick glance to see the date, then.

He took a deep breath. He approached the stand.

The New York Times. They wouldn’t lie to him, right? At least not about the date, he hoped. He picked the newspaper off the stand and searched the front page for the date.

** 2016 **

_ “Ey! _ This ain’t a fuckin’ library!” the salesman shouted at him. “You wanna read it,  _ you buy it!” _

Steve placed the paper back where he took it from. “S-Sorry.”

His whole body was shaking as he walked away.

2016.

_ 2016? _

Seventy years really  _ had _ passed. The century had turned.

The world was fucking spinning around him. Everything was fading out. All the noise disappeared, and it went quiet around him. It was hard to breathe.

He stumbled into an alley. He staggered and leaned against the closest of the brick walls.

His chest felt tight. His heart pounded so hard it felt two seconds away from breaking out of his chest.

It felt like he was ten years old again; small and thin, frail as a leaf in autumn, his asthma at its worst.

He couldn’t breathe.

_ He couldn’t breathe. _

Was he sobbing? It felt like he was sobbing, bawling like a baby.

Seventy years,  _ seventy fucking years... _ He’d been as good as dead for  _ seventy fucking years! _ All his friends... Peggy, the Commandos, Stark? Even if they survived the war, they’d all be dead by then. It was seventy years ago.

He heaved for breath. The air struggled to enter his lungs. It was impossible for him to breathe. His body felt numb and cold, his head spun.

*

Steve wiped his cheeks. Seventy years and the only thing that didn’t seem to have changed was panic attacks.

He got up slowly. He wiped the dirt off his pants, from having sat on the ground.

He needed to figure out what to do.

What were the priorities?

Water. Food. Safehouse.

Money, too. If he got his hands on some money, he could get all those other things. Money was the number one priority.

Beyond those four things, nothing mattered. If he had those four things, he could figure out the rest as he went along.


	4. Chapter 4

He stopped when a sign caught his eye.

**_ Homeless Shelter _ **

That was as good a place as any to start. Maybe they handed out food. Maybe they gave out clothes too. He needed to get out of these clothes, the ones  _ they _ had put him in.

He climbed up the steps and entered the building. Everyone there watched him with hesitance and distrust in their eyes. Hm, he didn’t blame them. Comparing himself to the others wandering through the halls, he didn’t exactly look like he was homeless.

But he was.

Of course he was. He was in a new century, in a city he didn’t recognize, and everyone he knew was gone while the world still likely thought  _ him _ dead too.

He had nothing.

He  _ was _ nothing.

He followed the people again. They seemed to know where they were going. It lead him to a small canteen, a line of people stretching around the room. He could smell fresh bread, and meat and vegetables. He got in line.

“Hey.”

He looked around. The man in like behind him had spoken.

Steve offered a nod and a weak attempt at a smile. “Hey.”

“You’re new, right?” the man asked.

His face was marked with age-lines and a graying stubble. More gray hair peeked out from under his knitted hat. His clothes were dirty and baggy, ripped and torn and damaged all over.

But he looked up at Steve with a  _ kindness _ in his eyes.

“Yeah.” Steve said lowly. “You could say that.”

They shuffled forward as the line moved.

“Max.” the other man said, holding his hand out.

“Steve.” he mirrored, shaking the offered hand.

“We’ve all been new, y’know.” Max said. “Ya just gotta get a grip on how shit works. I can show ya ‘round the place here, introduce ya to the people. Get ya some warm clothes.”

Steve wanted so dearly to trust Max. He seemed like a decent person, a kind person. Someone who just got down on their luck.

But everything in his mind told him not to be so frivolous with who he chose to trust. If this was a Hydra plot, then Max was Hydra too. Steve hoped he wasn’t, but he couldn’t know for certain. He had to guard himself closely.

“Thank you, Max.” he said, trying to give him another smile.

It felt like he failed.

“C’mon, kid, don’t worry.” Max all but pleaded, patting Steve on the arm. “We’ll figure out what to do with ya, once you got some food in that belly.”

Steve nodded.

The line moved slowly, but thankfully, Max didn’t try to talk to him more. Sure, Max was...nice, but Steve didn’t have it in him to talk much more. He was just...tired. It didn’t feel like he’d slept for seventy years. He felt too tired to have slept for that long. Sleep was supposed to make you feel rested! Instead, he just felt like a walking corpse, shambling along until he could collapse back into his coffin.

When they reached the counter, a ladle-full of some kind of meat slop was slapped onto his tray. Steamed vegetables were piled up next to it. He got two small buns, dusted with some kind of seeds. He also got a cup of rice and a glass of water.

It wasn’t much, but he’d survived on less during the war. He’d manage.

He and Max joined some other people at a table, but sat some distance away from them. Max talked enough for the both of them while they ate. Steve barely listened. He tried to focus on eating. He was more hungry than he’d realized, which wasn’t all that weird when he thought about it. If he had indeed slept for seventy years, that meant he hadn’t eaten for seventy years either.

Once they’d eaten, Max showed him through the shelter to a room marked  _ Donation Hand-out. _ It was filled with racks, in turned filled with clothes on hangers. Shoes were piled up near the doors. A big crate of ‘accessories’ was placed near the head of the room. Max dug out a set of mittens and a knit cap for Steve out of the crate, and three pairs of socks.

Steve was allowed to trade in his t-shirt and slacks for ‘new’ things. A paled red t-shirt and a blue long sleeve t-shirt, as well as a thick jumper, and a pair of washed out jeans. He was given a quite nice jacket, too. It was made out of a weird material he didn’t recognize, but it was warm and kind of soft, so he didn’t mind. He kept the boots he’d woken up in. They were comfortable enough, so they would do well enough for now.

Good, this felt good. He looked more like everyone else moving around the shelter. That was good.

Max showed him to the bunk hall next. There were cots lined out in neat, straight lines from one end of the room to the next. They were squeezed in tight together, in an attempt to fit as many as possible.

“Bunks on this end’re the best.” Max said as they sat down on a bunk each at the far end from the doors. “Noise from outside don’t travel this far.”

There was a pillow at the head of the bunk and a cover laying at the foot, folded neat and tidy.

“Oughta find you some kinda bag t’morrow.” Max continued.

He kicked off his shoes, then shoved them into the backpack he had been carrying. He laid down on his bunk, hugging the bag to his chest, and wrapped himself in the thin cover.

“Desperate people do desperate shit, y’know.” he said. “Everyone just wants to survive. Best to keep a tight hold’a your shit.”

Steve scoffed, laying down as well. “Don’t have any shit to hold onto.”

At that, Max laughed too.

Steve took a deep breath. He’d already slept for almost a century. He really didn’t feel like sleeping any more.


	5. Chapter 5

_Cold and dark, so cold, couldn’t move, felt frozen in place._

__

_He looked around._

__

_The train?_

__

_On the train again, speeding, speeding, speeding down the tracks towards God knows what._

__

_Bucky was next to him. God, his face... He looked so scared._

__

_Something exploded but it made no noise. The wall blew open._

__

_Bucky._

__

_Bucky fell out. Steve ran to him. Reached for him. He was hanging there. Dangling. Reaching. Wind beating down on them._

__

_If Steve could just reach a little further..._

__

_Bucky fell._

__

_He opened his mouth to scream but made no noise._

__

_Steve watched him fall, disappear, fade into the snow._

*

He sat up with a start, gasping for air.

Where was he? What was this place?

Wait...

No.

_No, no, no, no..._

Max, the bunk hall, the shelter...

It wasn’t a dream. It was real. He was awake.

The bunk hall was dark and quiet. The bunks were full. The clock on the wall told him it was the middle of the night.

He pushed the covers aside and swung his legs off the cot. Max lay asleep across from him. Steve reached out, shaking him lightly. The man woke up slowly and looked up at Steve with bleary eyes.

“Sorry.” Steve whispered. “Where’s the bathroom?”

Max grunted, rubbing at his nose for a moment. “Out the door. Left. Keep walkin’, you’ll see the sign.” he grumbled.

He dropped off back to sleep almost before finishing his sentence.

Steve grabbed the covers off his own bunk. He draped it over Max. Probably needed it more than Steve did.

He shuffled through the bunk hall as quietly as he could. He didn’t want to wake anyone else. He closed the door softly behind himself. He headed down the hallway to the left. Like Max said, he did see the sign.

Thank God toilets didn’t seem to have changed very much.

He washed his hands, and only had _a little_ trouble finding the soap. Who puts soap in a can on the wall?

He leaned in, splashing some water on his face. He looked at himself in the mirror.

God, he didn’t look anything like himself. He looked like he did when he was a kid. Small and hopeless and lost. He felt it more than he saw it.

He felt like the world had exploded out, grown so much larger. It made him feel small. Insignificant. Lost in this giant world he knew nothing about. He felt...not like himself. He felt far away from himself, in a way he couldn’t quite put into words.

He scrubbed his hands over his face.

He left the bathroom, moving back to the bunk hall. Maybe he’d feel a little better in the morning.

*

He didn’t get any more sleep. He lay there in silence, listening to the clock tick, to the breathing, the faint sound of traffic that his heightened hearing picked up.

He tried not to think too much. Just breathe. Just rest. Sleep didn’t matter, as long as he rested his body and his mind.

Maybe it was good that he didn’t sleep. No sleep meant no dreams.

As time rolled slowly by, people started waking up, one by one. Soon enough, the whole bunk hall was in motion. Everyone was packing their things up, putting their cots back to the way they found them, talking softly in the early morning.

“Hey, c’mon, kid.” Max said once he had gotten himself in order. “Let’s get some breakfast.”

Steve nodded. He followed the leader.

Breakfast was oatmeal and coffee. He was glad whoever ran the shelter had made a lot of oatmeal. It meant he could get seconds and thirds without feeling too bad. He _could_ get by on minimal rations but his body had a crazy high metabolism so more was always good. He settled for only three servings, even though he could easily have eaten many more. The other people at the shelter needed it just as much as he did, if not _more._ Lord knows how long he could survive without eating at all.

After eating, they left the shelter.

They walked. Steve didn’t know where they were headed but Max seemed to know.

Soon enough, they stopped at a store front. There were a lot of signs saying a lot of things he didn’t understand. What was an internet?

“Y’know what this is, right?” Max asked, gesturing to the store.

Steve shook his head.

“Internet café? Arcade? Video game store? Computer repair shop?”

“Those words mean nothing to me.”

Max gave him _a look._

Steve couldn’t say what kind of look it was, or what it meant.

“Where’d you say you were from again?”

He shrugged. “Brooklyn.”

Max sighed. “C’mon. I’ll show ya inside. Owner’s a friend. Let’s me come in, use the computers to look for work.”

“Nice man.”

The place looked...strange inside. It looked like nothing Steve had ever really seen. They said hello to the man at the front desk. He and Max talked like they were good friends. Max introduced him as John. Once he and Max where finished with their conversation, Max started moving again. Steve followed.

They sat down in a mildly secluded corner, which Steve was glad for. Max sat in front of a big, flat...thing. Steve stayed quiet. He watched and learned. Good thing he was always a quick study.

Max turned on the box locked into another box under the table, and the first box started humming. The flat thing turned on too. Wow... It was like a cinema had been shrunk down to just a handful of inches in size. Amazing.

“You seriously dunno what a computer is?”

Steve shook his head. “It’s...hard to explain.”

“Uh-huh...”

Whether he believed Steve or not, Max started explaining. He didn’t know all the details of how a computer worked, admitting so himself, but explained what he did know. It was a machine that people could do all kinds of stuff on, like play games and watch movies and read books and talk to people. There were even tinier computers called smartphones that almost everyone carried around in their pocket!

Apparently the internet was also very good and big and important, too. He really couldn’t wrap his head round it! A big network of places accessed with computers, where you could contact anyone in the world and learn almost anything there was to learn? _It sounded crazy!_ How could so much information exist in just...nothing? Steve was both entirely confused and extremely curious.

Max started another computer for Steve and opened the _browser,_ as he called it. 

“It’s a search engine. Type in somethin’ you wanna learn about, then it’ll show you some results and you can pick which one seems to fit best to what you want. So just, type somethin’ in. Go ahead. Try it.”

He opted for something easy.

_New York City_

Steve had used typewriters before, and this keyboard was...very _different,_ is all he’d say about it.

_Things to do in New York City_

_New York City - Wikipedia_

_Welcome to NYC.gov_

_The Official Guide to New York City_

Max told him to click the one called Wikipedia. This mouse thing felt weird in his hand. He clicked the blue text and the screen sort of flickered then opened this other _page,_ as Max said it was called.

He scrolled through the page, reading the text quickly. Wow... This was incredible. So much information gathered together into one place, for him to find so easily. It was mind-blowing.

“You got it?” Max asked.

“Yeah. Think so.” Steve said. “So I can just...search for anything?”

Max shrugged. “Pretty much.”

_Amazing._

“Keep playin’ with it, kid. I gotta do my own thing here.” Max told him, turning back to his own screen.

Steve hummed. He closed the Wikipedia page, opening another to find the search engine.

_Hitler_

He brought up the Wikipedia page, then clicked on the blue text reading _World War II._ He couldn’t take reading too much about it. He was glad it all ended soon after he crashed the jet, at least.

There was another search bar at the top of the page. Hm... He took a shot in the dark and hoped they had this page.

_Howling Commandos_

There was a black and white picture of them. Steve stood right there in the middle. Bucky was on his right. Everyone was gathered around them. For once, they were all smiling. He remembered when they took that photo. The photographer had told them to smile, since the picture would be in the newspapers. If he looked hard enough, he could see the pain in everyone’s eyes; the fear.

He scrolled down. There was a list of all the members.

Steve was first, with a note that said _Presumed Deceased._

Bucky was just under him, also listed as _Presumed Deceased._

And everyone else was listed as _Deceased._

Looking at their birth and death dates, though, they had all lived through the war. He went through their own pages, the ones that had them at least. They seemed to lived happily after the war. Gotten back, found jobs, gotten married, had kids, lived out their days.

While the confirmation of their deaths felt like a stab in the chest, he was happy for them. Even after everything, they had gotten their lives back. They had gotten the chance to live again. That was, at least, a small comfort.

He went back and clicked on his own name.

He did not enjoy it, and quickly turned back.

_Peggy Carter_

_Status: Alive_

She was alive? She was still alive. That made him just...speechless. But he honestly wasn’t surprised. She was always a resilient woman. So strong. He wished he was half as strong as her.

It said she lived in Washington D.C. That wasn’t really that far away. If he could get his hands on some money, maybe he could take the train down. Find her. Talk to her.

He froze. _What was that noise?_

Someone was running. A lot of people. He could hear them faintly in the distance. God, there was another noise he recognized, he couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was, but he recognized it.

_“S.T.R.I.K.E Delta, in position. On my count. Three. Two. Breach!”_

The shop door was violently kicked open.

He threw himself out of his seat, dragging Max down with him to the floor.

 _“S.W.A.T!_ Down on the ground! Get down on the ground!” the assailants shouted. “Hands in the air!”

Fuck, they had tracked him somehow.


	6. Chapter 6

He clamped his hand down over Max’s mouth, silencing him. The man’s eyes were big and wide with shock as he stared at Steve. Steve lifted his other hand, hushing him. Max nodded, so Steve removed his hand.

 _“Spread out!”_ a strike or swat person, whichever they were and whatever either of those things were, shouted. “Steve Rogers! Come out with your hands up!”

They had to be Hydra, or at least in Hydra’s pocket.

He looked around raptly, searching for anything to use as a weapon. He ripped a cable out of a computer. Anything would do in a pinch, he figured.

“Stay here.” he whispered to Max as softly as he could. “I’ll get you when it’s safe.”

Max looked too shocked to really understand what was happening, but nodded.

Steve shuffled out from under the table. He kept low to the ground.

He could see those people moving around. They were dressed in black and armed to the teeth.

They were sweeping through the store, moving from the front to the back.

Their guns didn’t look much different than the ones he remembered using in the war. No need to alter a winning design, he supposed was behind it. If he could get one of their guns, he could end this in half a second.

A noise came.

His head whipped around.

_Max!_

Max jumped out of cover. He tried to run. He was going _away_ from Steve.

Steve could only stare, shocked, as gunfire rang through the air.

Max crumbled to the ground. Blood spattered.

Steve leapt up, hurdling his body over the table at the closest of the assailants. He tackled the person to the ground. The cable wrapped around his neck and Steve pulled. Crack, and he stopped fighting under Steve’s weight.

He picked up their weapon. He got to his feet again, eyes darting around and landing on each of the assailants one by one.

He raised the gun and started firing.

A moment later, everything went quiet again.

He dropped the weapon. Fuck... They killed Max. Why did they do that? He didn’t do anything.

He had to get moving again. He couldn’t stay there. They’d send reinforcements soon enough.

He picked the handgun off the person he strangled. It looked a little different that what he was used to, but it was, just like the rifle, similar enough for him to be able to quickly figure it out. He grabbed whatever ammunition that seemed to be of the right kind, stuffing his pockets with it.

He didn’t want to, but he moved over to Max’s body. He stood over him. He swallowed the knot in his throat. He had liked Max, despite not trusting him. He’d been kind.

He closed Max’s eyes with a gentle hand. He grabbed Max’s bag. He went through his pockets. It felt shameful to do anything of the sort, but he needed anything and everything he could get his hands on.

Some coins, a few crumpled one dollar notes, random knick-knacks and bits and bobs that had probably only held any value to Max himself. Steve took them anyway. Might be useful. Until they were, he’d carry a little bit of Max’s kindness with him.

He raided the other bodies for more ammunition. He didn’t have much time, he could head sirens in the distance, that couldn’t be good. He stripped one body of it’s ballistic vest. He shoved it into the bag to put on later. Grenades, smoke grenades, something with _taser_ written on the side in big yellow letters, and a cannister labelled _pepper spray._ This would all be useful, even if he didn’t know what half of it did.

He ran to the front of the store. The sirens were getting closer. People outside on the street were screaming and running away.

John lay on the floor near the door, his hands tied behind his back. Steve didn’t bother with him. He ran to the register. What the heck, this thing looked so fucking weird but there had to be some cash there, right? He slammed his fist down on it as hard as he could. The plastic and metal crumbled together under the force, the drawer shooting open. _Yes, cash!_ He grabbed every bill he could get his hands on and grabbed a handful of the coins piled in one compartment.

He stepped over John, who was shouting at him to help, and exited the shop.

He sprinted down the street, _away_ from the sound of sirens.


	7. Chapter 7

He didn’t stop until he was at least twenty blocks away.

He found an alley that looked decently private, crammed in between two buildings. He crouched behind one of the dumpsters.

He tried to breathe. Just breathe. Breathe through it. It would do him no good to have another anxiety attack. He just needed to get his breathing under control.

He shifted focus. If he focused on something else, he wouldn’t fucking panic.

He counted the money he had grabbed. Bills and coin hadn’t changed very much, thankfully..

Fifty-three dollars and sixty-one cents.

To him, that felt like a whole fucking fortune, but he couldn’t speak for this new world. For all he knew, it might not even buy him a cup of coffee.

He removed his jacket and the short-sleeve t-shirt. He stripped the vest of the SWAT tags then put it on. He pulled his shirt back on over it. The vest made his torso look weird and lumpy, but he supposed looks was something he’d gladly sacrifice if it kept him from having to deal with a gunshot wound.

He slipped the gun down the back of his jeans for a lack of a holster. He tested it a few times, drawing his weapon as fast as he could. Good, he didn’t stumble over the motion. Could mean his death if he fumbled it in the moment of truth. He put some ammunition in his jacket pocket for quick access.

The taser was confusing, until he pressed the button on the side. He was startled, and rightly so, when electricity jumped between the two prongs on the top of the device and it made an awful cracking noise. After that, he very, very gently placed it in the inside pocket of his jacket and made a note to himself not to be careless when reaching for it. Lord knows what it would do to him.

He read the side of the pepper spray can, and he did not like what he read. It sounded damn awful to be hit with the stuff. He put it back in the bag. He would use it only as a last resort.

He sifted through Max’s things.

Something branded as protein bars, a half-drunk bottle of water, two pairs of socks and a set of mittens, deodorant, another t-shirt and a sweater, which was wrapped tight around a ragged notebook, a pen hidden among its pages. Max had written only a few notes; he listed places that gave out food to the homeless, addresses to shelters, the best places to camp out. Steve thanked Max softly for helping him even now.

He packed the bag neatly again, slinging it over his shoulder.

He had to keep moving.

*

Grand Central Station was big and confusing. Like everything else, it looked different than he remembered. So much light and noise and so many people. It felt surreal somehow. He almost couldn’t believe that this was the same Grand Central that he had walked though before the war.

He found his way to a ticket booth. The line was short and moved quickly; he was at the front before long.

“Good morning, sir, how can I help you?” the girl behind the glass said with a smile.

“I need to get to D.C. Can I get a ticket on the next train?”

The girl looked to her computer for a few moments then back at him. “I can get you a seat on the four o’clock, departing from Penn Station. How does that sound?”

“There’s nothin’ earlier?”

She glanced at the screen again. “I could try to squeeze you in on the twelve o’clock out of Penn Station, but since you’re buying the ticket so close to departure, it will be a little more expensive.”

“How much will it cost?”

“The twelve o’clock will be 205 dollars, while the four o’clock would be 192 dollars.”

_ “A hundred and ninety-two dollars?” _

“That’s correct, sir.”

He sighed.  _ Fuck... _ He didn’t have that much money.

“What’s the cheapest ticket to D.C you can get me? Doesn’t have to be today, can be whenever.”

The girl exhaled a soft breath, verging on a sigh, but went back to her computer again.

“If you book it now, you can get a coach ticket on the nine PM on Friday, next week, for 120 dollars.”

“If I book it, do I have to pay now? Or can I pay when I pick up the ticket?”

“You can pay when you pick it up,  _ but _ you will have to pick it up, at the latest, twenty-four hours before departure.”

“I’ll take it! I’ll book it.”

She booked the ticket for him, giving him a booking number, which he was certain to write down in his notebook just to be safe.

He had eight days to scrape together seventy dollars.

Then, he’d go to D.C and see Peggy.

After that...

Who knows?


End file.
